


Out Past The Fields

by ElleArcana



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Injury, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22583977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElleArcana/pseuds/ElleArcana
Summary: To be invited to a party would be welcome unless that invite is from Count Lucio in Vesuvia. Aislin can get through the two weeks of parties, political scheming, drinking, power-grabbing, vapid compliments, and Lucio’s flirtatious quips, but she can’t make it through when she sees those sad green eyes meet hers. She won’t watch him fight. She can’t watch him suffer. She’ll have to save Muriel.
Relationships: Apprentice & Lucio (The Arcana), Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana), Lucio (The Arcana)/Original Character(s), Muriel (The Arcana)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been weeks since that golden invitation was delivered to our breakfast table. The sun shone through our stain glass windows and lit up the red velvet box holding the invite. A footman bowed as he gave it to my parents. His clothes were perfectly pressed and his shoes a fancy leather. Despite the ride from Vesuvia to Othlacus’s capital being about a week’s journey, everything about him looked fresh and opulent. 

“Your majesty, Count Lucio of Vesuvia would be honored with your presence,” the man bowed. My dad read the letter and quickly discussed it over with Papa. While they whispered, I read, then relayed the writing to my brother. Lucio wanted Othlacus to attend his birthday celebrations. Two weeks in the capital of Vesuvia and he would let us stay in the best rooms of the palace. The annual Masquerade would close out the celebrations. I had hoped my parents would say thanks but no. A leader can’t leave their territory for two weeks for _partying_.

“Thank you for bringing this to us,” Dad stood, taking Papa’s hand in his, “While we cannot attend due to royal affairs, we offer the next in line of our family.”

“What?” Hansrey spat out his slice of grapefruit and got some in my hair. I rolled my eyes and tried to get the sticky fruit off me. The footman whispered with a companion and turned accepting the decision.

“Count Lucio looks forward to greeting you, Prince Hansrey, Princess Aislin,” he bowed to us all and didn’t accept the invite to stay the night.

Since then, it has been a whirlwind of fittings, planning, and my brother and I complaining. When a bunch of outfits were delivered, Hans wouldn’t stop staring at his biceps in one jacket, and then took up the whole mirror checking out his butt.

“Mine’s cuter,” I said just to annoy him. He disagreed and put on another pair of flattering clothes.

This is the first year that Count Lucio’s birthday is made such a long extravaganza with so many foreign nobles. It’s supposed to be relaxing, but it’s obvious everyone will be on their political A-game to win the favors of Count Lucio.

Dad takes time on our last day to run through manners again. We’ve grown up with these rules and know them like the backs of our hands. Then he runs down the things to highlight about our region, history, and culture. As if I didn’t grow up paying attention to the state meetings and history lessons he gave. Hans yawns and dad makes him recite some poems by local writers.

Our home, Othlacus, is a larger region but he reminds me how advantageous it is to have Vesuvia’s ports. How incredible it would be to have an official alliance with Count Lucio. He trusts me to bring back that alliance. 

“Use your brains. Your knowledge. I believe in you,” he squeezes my hand.  
“Hey! What about me?” Hans stops his reciting.

“You can help by charming people. You have a real knack for making friends,”

Dad pats Hans’s shoulder and he lights up.

“I do make friends everywhere,” Hans flicks his long black hair back. We would look like twins if it weren’t for his pale skin and my tanned tone. We even have the same violet eyes.

“What if Lucio only likes me for _other_ reasons?” I know what else is on the table: an alliance by marriage. If the rumors are true, and they almost always are, he’s looking for a partner. My Dad won’t admit it, but I know he has a few eyes and ears in Vesuvia. I’ve overheard them.

“It’s truly up to you. But, I must remind you, he is very powerful,”

“Ah yes. The ideal mate! Menacing and powerful!” Hans interjects.

“Don’t forget rich and a great ally!” I chime back.

“Oh, how could I? But _you_ forget! He has a big… _sword_!” Hans wiggles his eyebrows and pretends to faint. Dad rolls his eyes at us as we joke about sword length and width.

“The biggest! To conquer every enemy,” we both dramatically fan ourselves. Dad is about to scold us, but Papa comes in. He’s in his flowy orange and light pink cape. He always smells of roses and the beach.

“It’s _supposed_ to be a fun trip. Let them have a break from all this…” Papa brushes a hand along Dad’s tense shoulders and reads the cover of a book, _A chronicling of Othlacus: Resources and Assets Volume Twelve_.

“Riveting,” Papa’s blue eyes light up when he laughs and joins in on the jokes. It gets Dad to loosen up. We continue our light-hearted prodding until dinner is brought to the dining room. The conversation keeps but no one seems to notice my quieting down. I’m in my own head about how to approach the next two weeks. This isn’t the first time we’ve been to Vesuvia, and my last experience of Count Lucio wasn’t entirely pleasant.

It was years ago, my dad witnessed the coronation of Lucio and I tagged along. I remember being intimidated by the tall man and his golden arm. His talons that ticked and scratched. He was lithe yet muscled. He seemed uncaring and impatient. He had a sword on his belt and every now and then I’d glimpse him tapping his sharp fingers over the hilt. Almost as if he was restraining himself from cutting down the person before him. One wrong word, and it’d be someone’s last. He was on edge and so was I.

I remember he complimented my purple-gray eyes. My voice had caught in my throat as I folded my arms across my body, leaning further into Dad’s side. Dad had to thank him for me. Now, here I am, traveling to Lucio’s palace, expected to be sociable and possibly romantic.

After dinner, Dad and my maids pick many outfits. Morning, evening, lounge, and formal wear are all piled into my traveling cases. Papa also helps by sneaking some of my own choices into the pile. Dad knows we’re in cahoots and calls us out for it. With a smile and a peck to Dad’s lips, Papa goes to help Hans pack.

It’s late when I finally get to sleep and it’s the early hours of the morning when Dad wakes me. It’s time to go.

A golden-orange hue streaks the blue sky above foggy clouds. He runs down a list of important nobles expected to be there and who we should pay close attention to.

“I know you’ll have fun! Remember your manners, and if you see Derla Flore, tell her, to tell her father, that Carvos and Harlo send their love!” Dad kisses both my cheeks.

“Oh stop, Carvos. You two have fun! Go out on the town! Try everything and anything new! But also be safe!” Papa kisses Hans and I. They both wave us off until we can’t see them anymore.

We’re off to Vesuvia to the many dinners, parties, tours, and finally the big masquerade. I’ve heard the entire city comes to life with entertaining shows, music, piles of food, costumes, and of course the palace is a place of even more jubilation. I am excited to see old friends and experience the city, but I have my reservations. Hans’s deep snoring pulls me from my nervous spiraling.

He definitely snuck out last night to his friend’s party and knowing him, probably snuck back just in time for Dad’s wake-up call. I kick his outstretched feet and he stops snoring but stays asleep. I settle in, picking up a new book. It’ll be long until we reach the palace of Vesuvia.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun heats the coliseum even in our shaded seats. Sweat slicks my elbows, but my exposed skin is refreshed when a light breeze flutters through. It’d be a nice day out if it weren’t for the sounds of metal on metal, clanging across the coliseum. Cheers greet every swipe of a blade well placed on flesh.

I look over the architecture of the pillars and start counting how many seats there are. I’m on seat two hundred sixteen when I hear something crack and squish. The crowd cheers even louder and I feel nauseous. I don’t dare look down at the fighting. Hans is splayed across his seat, ogling the drink server.

“How much longer?” I mumble under my breath to him.

“For what?” He winks at the girl as she places an apple slice into his cider.

“Your desperate pining? This fighting? Or more pressing, here in Vesuvia?”

“I’m going to choose to ignore your rude comment, but Aislin, I’m sorry to inform you, my _dear_ sister,” he sits up gripping my shoulder, “but it’s only been two days,” he flicks the tip of my nose and I narrow my eyes at him.

“I hate it here.”

“I know.”

“This sport is horrible.”

“I know.”

Shouts and jeers echo in the coliseum as yet another fighter falls to the blade of Count Lucio’s champion. It’s the fourth person in today’s games and yet no one shows signs of tiring or repulsion to the blood-soaked dirt below them.

Down our row of seats, Count Lucio stands from his shining throne, accepting the cheers as if he were the one showing any feat of strength or agility. With a bow, he gives his closing speeches and makes his exit. It’s the longest he’s hung around the nobles this entire time, so they trip and follow after him to get the most time possible.

I gather my brother’s mess of banana and orange peels. An older woman takes them from me as she cleans around the seats. I notice a stain of blueberry on the fabric of my thin cape. Damn it, Hans. 

“I wish I could chase after that beauty! But we should head out. Lucio waits for no one,” Hans also picks up some of his trash and hands it to the old woman.

“I’m sure the count will be sticking around to brag about his champion for a while,” I sigh. We step out of the way. These past two days I’ve been shown the palace, told the story behind _every_. Single. Portrait. Of Count Lucio.

“This one shows the Count when he… slew a great beast… conquered a village…saved a royal…found unimaginable treasure…fought an army of men alone…took an evil count prisoner…negotiated a treaty…” and the list goes on as every tour guide tells us of how great their count is.

At dinners, Lucio will pop in to tell all of us of his mercenary days and relay all his fighting to us. Then he disappears and nobles sit talking about him even more. Last night, Countess Derla Flore wouldn’t stop talking about Count Lucio’s eyebrows and makeup to me. This is why I’m sure Lucio will be bragging about his champion for at least another two hours.

“I heard he’s looking for a new champion,” Hans raises a brow and steals more blueberries before we head out.

“How? You’ve been with me this whole time.”

“I ran into someone in the palace last night. He was incredible, Aislin! He traveled so many lands and told me so much. He’s a magician!”

“Where’d you meet him? What were you doing? Where was I?”

“The gardens. I snuck out. You were probably playing perfect noble lady, asleep in your room, waiting for your prince to whisk you off and out of Vesuvia,” I huff at his poking fun. Hans leads the way out of the coliseum and into the sun. A ring of carriages waits to take us all back to the palace.

“Of course you snuck out,” I scold.

“You should try it. There are interesting finds on the self-guided tours of the palace,” he laughs at his own joke. 

“Alright, so what did your new friend the magician say about Count Lucio’s fighter?”

“That he’s been Champion since Lucio became Count. His fighter is supposed to be fierce and strong and impossible to beat.”

“Which he is, right?” I wouldn’t replace the fearsome fighter I saw there today. He was fast, strong, and clever. I’d call that a killer combination. He was a powerful foe for everyone on the field.

“Well, that’s the _thing_. He is great, but even today there were a few close calls. Which makes Lucio feel embarrassed and angry,” Hans sips from a cup of wine I didn’t notice he snuck out, “He wants to get rid of the poor guy.”

“Get rid of him?”

“I doubt there’s a retirement plan with a house on the beach for Count Lucio’s Champion,” Hans raises his brow and I get the hint. The Champion’s days are numbered. We don’t have to wait long as Lucio speed walks ahead of an entourage.

Rich citizens, nobles, and other dignitaries are following right behind him. Some fawning and others complimenting the champion. He doesn’t give them a second look but rolls his eyes when someone offers him a ride in their carriage.

“I have my own, thank you,” it’s not a genuine thanks.

Before he gets to his ride his eyes meet my observing ones. I can’t tear my gaze away from those gray as a ghost of a smile graces his lips, but his form enters the carriage and I’m left standing there with Hans.

“I think he’s into you,” Hans mumbles.

“I hope not.”

“Hey, guys? Could I ride with you? Some of the girls are going to the market and doing their own stuff,” Derla approaches us and we see a full carriage of laughing girls take off. She’s petite but she looks even smaller watching them leave. She wrings her hands, and Hans takes her under his arm.

“Sure, Derla!” He opens our door and we all ride together.

##  * * * * * * *

“What should I wear to dinner?” Derla asks me again picking through the dresses she brought for show. Over the last couple of days, she’s gotten closer to Hans and me. She laughs at Hans’s jokes and she likes to remind me of all those times we played as kids. She and her parents stopped coming around our palace when we were eleven. I always wondered why considering they’re our neighboring territory… I hope I didn’t say anything rude at one of our tea parties.

“You should wear that pinky looking one,” I point to the off-shoulder flowy dress.

“No,” she shakes her head. She runs across the hall to her room and comes back with a new yellow dress. I don’t know why she asks me for advice. She changes quickly and looks herself over in the mirror. It’s a beautiful dress that flutters behind her as she moves. She keeps looking through my closet and playing with my accessories.

“You should wear that red dress!” she pulls a dress from the closet. The fabric is so thin, it leaves little to the imagination. Thin gold chains decorate it from the shoulders to the hips.

“No. I’m just going to go in this,” I pick my feet up on a cushion.

“Aislin! You wore that to the Coliseum. What if the Count has dinner with us?”

“I don’t really care? He pops in and leaves,” I flip a page in my journal.

“What?” Derla drops the dress and all the accessories she had in her hands. Her jaw might as well have hit the floor too. She closes her mouth, opens it again, and looks wild-eyed around the room. I fear I may have broken her.

“He hasn’t really been around any of us. So I don’t care if he eats with us?”

“How can you say that? It’s his birthday and he’s so nice!”

“That’s not for another week. And, I don’t think he’s nice.”

“ _What_?” She gapes again.

“Derla, your face is going to get stuck like that.”

She huffs and picks up the things she dropped. She starts to add rouge to her cheeks only to stop and turn to me.

“You know, Lucio once saved an entire village from pirates,” she starts as I put down my writing, “When I got here, he let me pet his dog.”

“Oh my! Award him most kind Count,” I snort.

“Aislin, I mean it when I say he seems nice, and I think he’s handsome,” she pouts. 

“Derla, have you actually talked to him or have you just heard all of the stories?” Distressed her cheeks redden and her hands start to fidget.

“They have so many stories of what he’s done for others…”

“Yeah and how many villages did he conquer? How many people died in the coliseum for his entertainment yesterday? Today? Probably tomorrow too.”

“Okay but that Champion volunteered for his job!”

“We don’t know that.”

“Exactly, Aislin, have you spoken to him or have _you_ just heard the stories?”

“I haven’t talked to him, but—”

“See. So. Maybe talk to him before thinking he’s so bad or making me feel bad for liking him,” It’s the first time Derla’s red eyes are fiery. My smile falters, and I think over how I’ve been talking to her.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“I know, but you did,” she isn’t crying. She won’t, but she does sniffle.

“I am sorry. I really am. You’re right, I can’t judge him just yet. All I know are rumors and stories… but you gotta admit… as handsome as he is, his shirt being half-buttoned is weird,” Derla huffs a laugh at my observation.

“It’s in style!” She defends and I laugh. To make up for the slight, I offer to let her get me ready.

Derla has fun looking through all of my clothes and picking accessories. She also has a talent with braiding hair. She told me that back home she does a lot of styling and designing. She even showed me some of her sketches and they’re better than my designer’s work. I’d love any one of her dresses.

“Do you ever make your dresses?” I look over the pages as she pins a braid into my hair.

“All the time, but my dad won’t let me really let me have models for them. It’s just a hobby,” Derla shrugs finishing her work on me.

“This doesn’t look like a hobby. It looks so passionate and beautiful,” I point to one drawing of a gorgeous wedding gown that looks like it would have wings, but with a closer look, it’s lacey sleeves.

“Thank you, I do really like doing this,” she gestures at all the styling she’s done.

After some debate, I finally slip on a soft purple long dress with a low-cut neckline and flowy skirt that starts right at my waist. The sleeves hang just off my shoulders. It’s plain but the fabric gives an ethereal feel to it as it moves with the breeze.

“I wish I had a butt,” she sighs in the mirror. It may be a looser dress, but Derla still compliments my curves. I slip on my shoes.

“Your boobs are bigger though,” I lead us out.

“It’s not the same,” She rolls her eyes as we descend a staircase. Hans joins us at the end of a hallway and takes over the conversation.

“Have you seen my burgundy pants?” Hans runs ahead and shows off his outfit. He also flexes his arms for show. Derla blushes and he falls back into step with us. 

“Have they said what’s for dinner today?”

“I think it’s—”

“Asra!” Hans shouts interrupting Derla.

“Hans!” A white-haired figure turns around to the sound of Hans shouting. The fluffy hair bounces around the crowd until out of the crowd he steps. A scarf around his neck and a satchel on his hip, he looks ready to go off on an adventure rather than dinner.

“You’re having dinner with us today?” Hans is very excited. With a genuine smile and fierce hug, the person nods to my brother. They talk for a moment when Hans finally introduces us.

“Asra! This is my sister Aislin and our friend Derla. Aislin, this is my friend, Asra, the magician,” Hans whispers that last part. I hear Derla mumble friend behind me, but I’m quickly wrapped into a warm hug. This stranger feels so soft yet strong.

“Oh! Hi,” he smiles at my outburst and I feel my heart melt. He’s so sweet and refreshing in the first minute of knowing him.

“Very nice eyes,” he compliments me and I notice he also has violet eyes. I thank him and compliment his back. He is about to keep the conversation going, but the grand doors of the dining room swing open.

“I hope no one was standing in the way,” Derla worries. Hans just ruffles her hair which upsets her.

All of the nobles pour in admiring the décor. In the air floats a canopy of glowing flowers and leaves. The tables have been set as a ring around the room leaving a space in the middle for us all to focus on. At the center are a few performers who contort themselves into different poses. A waterfall cascades down from the ceiling but before it can hit the performers it dissipates into thin air. It sounds like a bird zips past my ear and a frog croaks somewhere. It’s a rain forest but I see no animals. A throne sits at the center of the table. That is particularly new and people scamper forward trying to get the seats right next to it.

Asra and I try to hold back our laughs watching nobles try to look casual and well-mannered as they speed walk and fight over a chair. Han’s booming laughter surprises some and they trip. Derla is utterly offended by their behavior.

When we sit, a nobleman from Slargon tries to talk to Hans who slowly turns away and talks to Asra. The Slargon kid doesn’t even notice and keeps talking.

“Is there a party tonight or something?” I ask.

“No, Lucio would have a much louder show,” Asra looks uneasy and I try to ask him what’s wrong. But, the room has gone silent. Atop the grand stairs, Lucio stands with a white fur cloak and red suit. A round jewel is pinned to his shoulder. His sword, for once, is not on his hip, and his golden arm no longer ends with talons. The dogs at his side stand just as regal with ears as sharp as their master’s cheekbones. Everyone stands for his entrance. It’s still completely silent until applause starts up.

I don’t know what they’re clapping for. It’s a crescendo of noise that I don’t join, too concerned by the shift in the air next to me. Asra is very tense as Count Lucio gets closer to his throne. He gestures for it to stop.

His eyeliner is impeccable, and he stands with shoulders back. My dad would be impressed. He always has to scold Hans for slouching.

“Thank you. Thank you, for attending my dinners and celebrations thus far, but I have particular guests I would like to have join me for our dinner tonight. Asra, my magician. Please come forward,” Lucio calls out. He makes a “come here” gesture and I feel Asra’s anger rolling off him. I feel it pulsing through me and my knees are shaking.

I squeeze his hand in passing and Asra walks through the center of the circle to Count Lucio’s side. Before he can walk into the table, he floats above it and takes the seat someone had begrudgingly given up. The nobles break into applause again at the show of magic and Asra doesn’t acknowledge it. Lucio looks well pleased. We all take our seats and when I’m just settled, Lucio, from his lounging position on his throne calls out again.

“Ms. Aislin Gyrelle, please, join me?” Hans nearly jokes on his wine and Derla makes a giddy noise. The count’s silver eyes are questioning, and after a few beats, I stand.

There are some whispers and someone outright asks “Who?” Those who know me stare. Hans is still choking on wine. Derla makes a giddy noise. My chair screeches against the marble floor. The whispers pick up but Count Lucio stands, waiting for me to join him.

My palms sweat as I walk towards the now empty chair and hear the random bits of conversation. Some asking who I am. Others know exactly who I am but wonder, “Why _her_?”

I approach my seat and before I can curtsey in greeting, the count takes my hand and kisses my wrist. His hand is cold and nearly clammy like mine. I don’t know how to react except to say thank you, and he even moves to pull my seat for me. One of the dogs rests its head by my foot, keeping itself between its master and me.

“It’s rude to stare,” Lucio calls out and people look away.


	3. Chapter 3

Joking, clanking glasses, and gossip fill the room. Across the way I watch Derla and Hans laugh together and I wish I got to hear the joke. I wonder if Hans is telling her about the time he got lost in Nevinon with no money. He was so drunk that time. Dad was the angriest I’d seen him ever. People next to me mention a local market and I make a note to go there.

I chase a pea around my plate. I don’t like tonight’s dinner so far. Asra every now and then taps his spoon on his plate. Lucio’s cheeks redden more and more as the conversations around him flourish. He may burst if he doesn’t get to say something soon.

“Oh come on! One of you must have something exciting to share!” Lucio snaps out. There it is. Asra drops his spoon, and it skitters off the table. Count Lucio backs up to avoid getting stained but his elbow knocks into mine. I spill my wine on the table. I hurriedly toss my napkin over it to soak it at the same time Asra and Count Lucio toss theirs. One napkin catches a candle, and we all watch as it tumbles down. I hold my breath but we luckily don’t start a fire.

None of us say anything as a servant takes away the napkins and fetches a new candle and wine cup. We’re back to not talking. Count Lucio sits with pinched lips and stabs at the food on his plate. When I used to act like that my parents would tell me to stop throwing a tantrum and use my words. Our silence is grating.

“Othlacus has the largest amethyst mines in the northern hemisphere,” I offer. Asra hides a smile and Lucio’s face breaks into a wide grin. We all feel the intensity dampen and the tension in my shoulders loosens.

“Amethyst is a lovely stone. Reminds me of your eyes,” Lucio lets slip and I blush deeply. Asra picks up on it and chips in.

“My eyes are violet too,” he widens his eyes to give us a good look.

“Ah yes! Have you two gotten to know each other? Aislin, this is my magician Asra. Asra, this is Aislin, Princess of Othlacus. That’s in the north,” Lucio introduces us again.

“Yes, we met in the hall, but we didn’t get to talk before all of this,” Asra nods at all of the decorations and the mess on the table. I start to pick at my food again. The conversation does begin to flow a bit easier among the three of us. Lucio dictates most of it telling Asra to tell me about some adventure either Lucio or he went on. Lucio will sometimes light up when he talks about his own work and how he came to be count. He gets really excited if I ask about the dogs. Their names are Mercedes and Melchior, and he loves them very much.

“Where are you originally from, if you don’t mind my asking?” My curiosity is piqued when he speaks of being young and on an ice lake in the south. A shadow passes his face and he seems weary for the first time since he kissed my wrist. He’s thinking over his next words carefully and watches over the crowd of nobles. I practically have to lean in to hear what he tells us.

“None of these people would know it, or the fear it strikes in its enemies. It was a cold place with colder people. It was small—claustrophobic—and I left it behind for all of this, Aislin,” he mutters. If sneering mixed with guilt had a face, at this moment Lucio may be the poster image for it. He’s looking right through all of these people. Watching them laugh and joke and look ridiculous in their get-ups. He looks like a void. Instinctively, I pat his arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. I don’t ask any more questions, and I finally stab a pea with my fork.

“Did you enjoy dinner? Your entire steak is left,” he lifts my plate before I can answer.

“Bring the fish option. I told you to ask guests what they wanted,” he hands the plate off to a server that immediately ran forward and then to the kitchen.

“It was fine, truly Count Lucio. I’m looking more forward to dessert,” I try to intercede.

“No, my guests only get what they want and that’s always the best. Also, call me Lucio,” he leans towards me daring me to counter him.

“Thank you, then, Lucio,” I take the new plate of fish and dig in because I actually am very hungry. The fish is marinated in citrus that makes my taste buds pop. I sigh in content and Asra and Lucio seem satisfied. They both talk to me or to each other. I find out more about Asra’s arrival in Vesuvia and they find out more fun facts of my homeland. Asra gets excited when I talk about the amethyst again. I tell him I’m sure my dad would love to have him over. He’d have the freedom to explore all the gemstones Othlacus has to offer.

“Crystals and gems really have energy. They hum and bring their own power to a spell or you or anything really,” he goes on to tell me about his favorite gems. I tell him we have a few of his favorites. Dessert is served and I have a choice of chocolate bread or pumpkin.

“Pick the pumpkin! It’s the best in Vesuvia,” a purple snake slithers out of Asra’s scarf to nibble the bread. I nearly shout, but everyone else doesn’t react to it.

“Faust,” Lucio greets it like an old enemy.

“Lucio,” I hear a whisper of a voice reply.

“Say hello to, Aislin,” Asra tells it.

“Hello…Aislin,” there’s the hissing whisper of a voice.

“What?” I watch as they casually feed the snake.

“She’s my familiar. You may be able to hear her voice if you know her well,” Asra adds.

“I can hear her so clearly. This is incredible,” I let her slide up my arm and she curls around me almost like a hug.

“Friends.”

“Friends,” I respond to her. She nudges my cheek and slithers back towards Asra for more sweets.

“You are very interesting, Aislin,” Asra asserts popping bread into his mouth.

“That at the least,” Lucio interrupts us but abruptly stands, “Thank you all for this dinner party, and for celebrating my years of living. However, this evening is far from over, Asra,” Lucio signals something to him. Asra takes his time rising to his feet. Faust slithering back into her hiding place.

His head hangs slightly as he mumbles some chant. His white hair glows as a quaking begins in the room. It rattles the canopy of flowers and leaves above us. The tables rise above the ground and form a mock version of the coliseum. Asra sits back and crosses his arms.

“Tonight, I want you all to meet some very special guests,” as Lucio’s speech continues, the doors of the room slam open. Large guards guide in a line of men and women who vary in size, dress, armor, and age. One woman looks mean and ready to punch the man next to her. They all look ready for a fight. In fact, a man looks like he was in a fight a minute ago. A fresh cut along his brow and a purple bruise on his cheek.

“Be witnesses to the tournament of the century. One of these fierce warriors will be lucky enough to become Vesuvia’s and Count Lucio’s Champion. They will face each other and the current champion to see who will be honored with the title,” he continues. Hans and Asra were right. Lucio is going to find his new Champion and there will be death: plenty of it.

So far I count 15 but the line continues to flow in.

“Tonight you will get to see each perform his or her strengths and talents. Some fire breathe, and others strike faster than a snake,” Lucio tells the room of nobles who “ooh” and “ahh” at every new person. They whisper about some fighters and cheer for others.

I’m counting heads, now on 30, when I’m overwhelmed with an ocean of fear and waves of anxiety. I’m drowning in the sick panic. I might throw up. Asra notices and comes to rub my back with his warm touch. No doubt using his magic to read me. He’s helping, but not enough to push away this sinking feeling. Lucio pays us no mind.

“While you all are so valiant, only one can win,” Lucio grins and flourishes out his arms. It’s with that final word, a large cloaked figure ends the line, number 34. Shackles and chains hold them under control, but they’re not fighting. I can’t see their face past their hood, but I can feel their panic rise with the applause of the room. Everyone standing and trying to get better views of the contenders. I rise and want to run to this person’s side. They need to be held and to be told it’ll be okay. Asra’s hands hold me steady as my knees shake under me.

“Are you going to make them fight right now?” my stomach flips at the thought.

“And not let the people see the fight? No,” Lucio laughs as if I asked a silly question. I still feel incredibly light-headed and Lucio picks up talking to the room again. He outlines the extra prize of winning this contest of blood; the winner gets to keep living. This makes the room and the competitors laugh. The shackled person remains still.

“Tonight, each of these warriors will show you their skills in a room specially designed for their strengths. You are free to roam them. Free to jeer. Free to bet on who will be my champion,” Lucio looks proud. He mentions betting money will go to the overall winning bet with a portion to be donated to the Vesuvian soldier and guard training. The nobles light up at the thought of helping Vesuvia, of helping Lucio.

“I would be honored to be your Champion, Count Lucio,” one of the men steps forward bowing. Another does the same.

“These men will perish at my hammer,” a woman steps forward swinging a fist at her chest, making a deep grunting chant. She takes a knee. All of the competitors step forward to pledge their honor to Lucio, everyone but the cloaked figure.

Lucio is obviously annoyed and a guard kicks the figure down. Their hood pulls back slightly with the sudden movement. A shadow of hair prickles across his jaw and his lips sit in a permanent frown. His green eyes look dark and his tan skin holds marks of dirt. A new cut pricks his lips.

My knees buckle further when our eyes meet, and sounds of screaming and terror fill my head. Suffering mixes with a chanted “Stop. Stop. Stop.” My brain vibrates with the noise and pain blooms in my chest. It squeezes my heart and doesn’t let go. I feel someone’s cold hands gripping my jaw and brushing hair from my face. Lucio’s frantic questions are the last thing I hear.

Those worried green eyes sear themselves in my memory.


End file.
